


Foreigner's God

by Sweet_maker (mohawke)



Series: Wildest Dreams: The Templar and The Lady [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Avaar!Cullen, Bride Stealing, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Lowlander, Sex, That's it, fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:31:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5059486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mohawke/pseuds/Sweet_maker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's come to steal her away...However, everything is not all that it seems (Please see notes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foreigner's God

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try something new with how this was written, but I'm worried that it comes off a bit dub-con at first. So DISCLAIMER.
> 
> It's not dub-con/non-con. Everything in here is 10000% consensual. If you read through it, you'll understand.

Lady Catherine Trevelyan sits down at her vanity with a sigh. She glances down at the ring on her left hand, lips turned down into slight frown. It had finally happened. He’d proposed to her… _Mother is positively beside herself._ She begins to pull the pins from her hair, the cinnamon colored waves falling loose as they drop with a slight ping. There’s a slight creak on the wooden floorboards. 

She glances in the mirror but there’s only her reflection, brows drawn together in wariness. “Don’t be a fool. There’s no one else in here.” She says to herself, shaking her head.  
As the final pin drops she sees movement out of the corner of her eye. She opens her mouth to scream but the stranger clamps a large palm over her lips. There’s the feel of warm breath against her ear as a gruff voice whispers “Hush Lass. You don’t want to wake anyone, do you?” 

Catherine shivers, wrenching her head free from his grip and craning to look at him. Her pulse begins to race when she sees the painted man. He’s watching her with whiskey colored eyes. His other arm is wrapped tightly around her waist, fingers crushed against the green velvet of her gown. “Unhand me you barbarian.” She hisses when she regains her senses. The man just chuckles wickedly. “Why would I do that, Lowlander? I’ve come to claim my bride.” 

She lets out an indignant noise, eyebrows arching. “Bride?!” He covers her mouth with a firm hand again. “Yes Lass, my bride.” Catherine bites his hand, drawing a soft hiss of pain from him. “You’re a spirited Lass, I’ll give you that.” She wrenches one arm free from his grip and tries to push him away. “My father-“she begins, words stuttering off when the man grabs her hand in an instant and pulls her flush to him. “He shan’t be hearing a word from you…”

She’s keenly aware of how little he has on, her eyes roaming across the exposed planes of his chest. The skin is crisscrossed with faint silver scars, red slashes of paint a stark contrast against them. She swallows, cursing her foolish mind for noticing how attractive he was. Not some helpless whelp like my intended she thinks with a dark smile.  
Somewhere in that reverie the Avaar hoists her into his arms, hand clapped firmly over her lips as she yelps. She’s not sure where he intends to take her, and she desperately tries to free herself. There’s no one in sight and she lets out a scream against his hand as he carries her from the stone walls of her home. 

Once outside of the walls he sets her down, not uncovering her mouth yet. She yanks at his arm with her free hand, breathing in a deep breath of cold air when he let’s go of her, holding her other arm firmly in a large hand. “ _MAKER’S BREATH, YOU HAD BETTER LET ME GO OR I WILL-_ “her tirade is met with a bemused look and she wants to hit him. The wind blows, a dusting of snow swirling through the air. The fur over his shoulders stirs in the gust but he doesn’t flinch. “Where are you taking me?” She snaps angrily, trying to work her arm from his grasp. “I already told you Lass. You’re coming to Skyhold.” 

The keep is as strong and formidable in appearance as the Avaar himself. He strides through the hall and she has to hurry to avoid being dragged bodily. It’s silent, just the sound of their footsteps filling the stone walls. He stops outside a door and turns to face her, looking over her with those damned eyes. “Take me home.” She demands, holding her head high. He pushes the door open and pulls her against him. “This is your home now, Lass.”

The door shuts and he releases her arm for the moment. “My father will-“Catherine begins to argue, more for her own reassurance, she realizes with a start. “Lowlander, no one is coming for you.” He snaps with a hint of irritation, crowding her back towards the wall. 

“My _FATHER-_ “The man grasps her jaw in his hand, surprisingly gently. “He’s the one who gave you up Lass.” Catherine looks at him, not understanding. “Nonsense. What are you even trying to say?” He scoffs. “Lowlanders…you’re all daft. He traded you, the man. His daughter in return for his safety and lands.” She laughs at the absurdity. “Why me?” His eyes flick towards her lips as she speaks, watching as she tugs her lower lip nervously between her teeth. “I asked for you.” 

Catherine shivers, the deep timbre of his voice is like velvet to her senses. “You can either learn to like it here or not, but you’re mine now.” _Maker I don’t even know his name._ “You’ll have no part of me, you brute.”

\----

His lips twitch as he tries to stifle a laugh. “That’s what you went for, Cat? Brute?” Cat rolls her eyes, tilting her chin up defiantly. “Do you want me to start over?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, you were right. I am quite brutish…”

\----

The Avaar lets out a laugh. “You’re wrong about that Lass. I’ll be having every part of you.” Catherine shudders slightly as he traces her jaw with his thumb, the other hand running along the exposed skin of her shoulder. “You can tell yourself you’ll hate it, that you don’t want this. But that’d be a lie, Lowlander.” There’s a flash of indignant anger on her face at the accusation, along with a slight ache between her legs as he traces his palm along the curve of her waist and down to her hip, his thumb caressing her through the layers of fabric. He leans his head down to hers, his lips a breadth away from hers. “You’re move, Lass.” Then all she knows is the feel of his lips on hers.

She knows she should be appalled by how easily she gives in to the sensation of the kiss. There’d been men before him who’d shared her bed. Not a one had kissed her like this, as if he wanted to steal the breath from her lungs. It’s rough, savage, and _hot_. When he pulls back, she’s gasping. 

“So has the pretty Lowlander made her choice, then?” He whispers against her ear. “Catherine. If you intend to have your way with me at least use my name.” She says, steel gray eyes looking at him fiercely. He gives her a devilish smirk, the scar running through his lip pulled taut. “Lass, you won’t _remember_ your name after tonight.” Her pulse flutters as he kisses her, hard. He’s claiming her, marking her. She stifles a wanton moan when he tugs her lower lip with his teeth. 

She’s only vaguely aware that at some point he had slid a thigh between her own, parting her legs. She’s burning, drowning in the heat of her unrelenting desire and the velvet of the gown. With a soft whimper she pulls away from him. “What _now_ , Lass?” He groans, watching her impatiently. “You-Your name. I don’t know it.” He looks at her as if she’s mad, and she’s not quite sure that she isn’t. “Cullen.”

He’s back on her again, pressing her hard against the stone wall of the bedroom. His hips are flush against her as his lips meet hers hungrily, the cloth between his legs doing little to conceal the evidence of his desire for her. She lets out a whimper, rocking against him. She feels strong fingers gripping her hips through the layers of her gown, holding her in place. She lets out a frustrated noise, trying to grind against him. 

Cullen hoists her into his arm and crosses the room, setting her down roughly on the fur strewn bed. Catherine watches him, eyes wide as he towers over her, hands on his hip. He’s everything a _proper Lady_ should fear, and it’s everything she _wants_. He exudes power, pride. The firm planes of his torso are covered with slashes of deep red paint. Golden hairs cover his chest, growing thicker as her eyes move further down. She quickly averts her gaze back up. He’s got the arms of a warrior, not a soldier. Strong and well hewn from a lifetime of practice and consistent use of some sort of weapon. He looks like a jungle beast, ready to devour her. I wish he would. She blushes at the unbidden thought.  
His lips curl as he gets onto his knees. Warm hands slide underneath the skirt of her gown, yanking her towards the edge of the bed, the fur sliding against her skin. Callused fingers brush against the skin of her calves, dancing up the length of her leg.

\---

Cullen’s thumb brushes lightly against the back of her knee, hitting a ticklish spot. Cat twitches, pulling away instinctively. She dissolves into breathless laughter, a hand clapped over her mouth when she sees him rubbing his jaw. “Maker’s breath! I’m sorry Cullen.” She sits up, reaching a hand out to him. “Are you alright?” He nods “Remind me not to do that again.”

\---

Catherine holds the velvet skirts up, watching with interest as the Avaar’s fingers draw closer to her silken small clothes. “You lowlanders and your fancy underthings.” The man slips two long fingers under the thin fabric and tugs sharply. Catherine let’s out a cry that is half anger, half arousal as the fabric tears on one side. He yanks the remaining side and discards of the destroyed garment over his shoulder. Catherine inhales a shaky breath. Her pulse skips rapidly as she squirms under his intent gaze. She feels exposed, spread beneath him.

She feels his lips on her calf, the brush of his thick stubble burning against the sensitive skin. She has to struggle to keep her legs still. She lets her eyes drift shut, content to simply _feel._ Her hips cant upwards as he brushes his lips against the skin of her upper thigh. Warm breath hovers inches from her center and she lets out a whimper of anticipation.

“You’re _wet_ , Lowlander.” He groans, inhaling sharply before he dips his tongue between her folds. “ _Oh…_ ” She gasps, nearly jumping out of her skin when he brushes her clit. Soft moans permeate the air as Cullen devours her hungrily. Her hands move restlessly, clenching and unclenching in the fabric of her skirts. Her first orgasm takes her by surprise, coming on quickly. The warrior doesn’t let up until she pushes his face away. 

“That was…” she can’t remember what word she was looking for. Cullen gives her a dangerous smirk. “We aren’t done. Not even close…” The bed dips beneath his weight as he lowers himself onto it. He looks over her dress with a frown. “This needs to go, Lass.” 

The buttons down the back are ripped apart halfway through his impatient struggle to undo the dress and she’s glad the dress didn’t lace instead. She lets the fabric pool to her waist, licking her lips as he pulls it down over her hips and discards it on the floor. She’s down to just her breast band and he’s sure to take care of that soon enough.  
Catherine watches him strip off the fur cloak and the cloth between his legs. He’s unabashed, not a second thought about baring himself to a complete stranger. Her eyes drift south and she has to bite back a hum of approval. He notices and once again gives her that sly smirk before covering her body with his own. She can feel his length against her, hard and hot as he kisses her. They are both slick with sweat, the doors closed to the mountain air. 

“Are you ready, Lowlander?” Cullen asks, spreading her legs wider. She feels him nudge the head of his cock against her folds. She nods and he enters her in a single thrust. A sharp gasp tumbles free, and she lays still as she adjusts to the fit of his cock inside her. Callused hands cup her breasts and it’s silent except for the heavy sound of their breathing.

Catherine rocks her hips gently and it’s all the signal he needs before he takes over. Each glide of his length makes her burn hotter and she doesn’t try to hold back the moans and sighs. She’s lost in the feel of him. His lips and teeth sucking on her neck, his hands on her breasts. She grasps her nails against his back as he thrusts more quickly, drawing a quiet hiss from him.

He pulls out and urges her onto her hands and knees before thrusting back into her slick heat. “You like being taken like this, Lass. Rough and savage. Not like those Lowland _boys_ who bedded you before. Underneath all that silk you’re a wild one.” His breath is warm against her skin as he growls the words. One hand slides between her thighs, rubbing in quick circles. She lets out a keen as she arches into him, the walls of her sex squeezing his cock. He lets out a groan, his hips stuttering as he loses his rhythm. Catherine whimpers as his fingers continue to work her, wringing out one last orgasm from her. She presses her face against the furs on the bed, panting as the Avaar finishes inside her with a groan.

\---

“I don’t think I can move…” Cat says, brushing her sweat slicked hair off her forehead. Cullen chuckles, chest rising and falling quickly as he works on catching his breath. “Are you thoroughly _ravished_ , my lady?” He looks over at her, a smirk on his face.

“Yes. Some Avaar stole me away and made me his earlier.” Cat rolls over onto her side to face him. Her lips twitch into a smile as she looks at him. “Maybe we should have skipped the fire…half your paint is smeared.” His eyes flick down her body. “You’re wearing it right now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the series of fics exploring these two warrior dorks and their kinks/fantasies.


End file.
